Strange Way of Getting to Know Someone
by millenniumthief
Summary: Mai races motorcycles for her own reasons that no one needs to know. Yami Bakura has a tendency to figure people out just because he can. Mai isn't too thrilled about it, but then, why does she find herself changing? Conceitshipping for contest.


Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-gi-oh!

A/N: Augh, this didn't turn out nearly as well as I wanted it to, but I'm out of time! I still hope someone enjoys this AU. Also, I'm getting personification mixed up too…For some reason I found parallels between Yami Bakura and Izaya Orihara…now that would be a scary combination.

Strange Way of Getting to Know Someone

In the stillness of a sweltering, pitch black night, the sudden revving of two engines cut through the silence like a gunshot. Joining the sound, insane cheering erupted around the motorcycles, one black and one yellow, bets being hedged over which would win the challenge placed before the bikers, each having his or her own reason for watching the race about to unfold. The excitement was palpable, the thrill undeniable, and as a gorgeous young woman, keeping with the theme of it all, stepped out into the narrow lane between the twin machines, a hush fell over the crowd once more, waiting for the flags she held to drop and signal the start of the race.

The revving quieted to a dull purr, and she spoke over the sound. "Same rules as always; no hitting, kicking, pulling, and absolutely no weapons. I want a fair race. We have people watching to make sure you two don't cheat. Now, ready…set…"

The flags began to fall and those assembled held their breaths for a tense second.

"GO!"

As if fleeing from some invisible monster no one else could see, the motorcycles shot forward with unimaginable speed, flying around the woman as she stood perfectly still and quickly accelerating until even the sound was indistinguishable from the roar of the crowd. The excitement of the start of the race kicked off a new round of betting, and they simply had to wait for the bikes to return and call a victory.

Streaking down the straight, empty roads, the two motorcycles were neck and neck, seemingly no different in acceleration or top velocity. The pavement was barely illuminated by the front headlight, and even if something were to appear in the glow, there would be no way to stop in time. Neither rider was bothered though, and it was evident through the "do-or-die" attitude exuded from each of their very postures. Backs leaned forward to reduce drag and hands gripping the bars like their lives depended on it…they were playing for keeps.

Within half a minute, the empty roads gave into city streets and became much curvier. Although there wasn't necessarily a marked path, bystanders lined some of the sidewalks and the bikers knew to follow them. A race like this was technically illegal, so the passerby system worked well. Anyone who was old enough could simply say he was out for a drink. After examining the upcoming turn, the black motorcycle was on the inside on the right and sharply took the corner, leaning into it to increase speed. The yellow bike was forced to the outside, taking more time and losing speed due to the wide turn radius. Its rider's fingers tightened on the handlebars.

The change in position meant the yellow bike was riding the black one's back wheel, and a grating, rubbing sound erupted as the wheels touched briefly. The trailing rider had two choices at this point; either it could slow down to make the ride safer, or the bike would be maneuvered sideways, costing valuable time either way.

Looking up ahead once more, a lone person on the left corner meant that the turn would curve that way, and so in a snap decision, the yellow bike was jerked left, gaining speed around the corner.

A sharp honking was enough to let the rider know that the move was not appreciated, the oncoming vehicle slamming on its breaks as the bikes passed by. There wasn't any time to worry, though. At the next left corner stood another bystander, and the yellow bike gained ground instead of simply keeping pace with the black rider. Two blocks down and another left, and the rubbing of rubber was heard again, but the yellow rider didn't care. They were on the straightaway back to the starting point, yellow bike in the lead. Its rider never looked back.

Upon crossing the finish line, the yellow bike was mobbed by a group of people that had apparently placed the right bet. The girl that started the race worked her way through the group and held up the winner's hand.

"And the winner of the race is Valencia~!"

The crowd waited for several moments for the black bike to pull up, but it was nowhere to be found. The MC pulled out her phone as she felt it vibrate, and she read the text that lit up the screen.

"The other bike spun out at the last turn due to a collision with Valencia's tire. It is declared an accident and the win is still valid! Congratulations!" she cheered, fueling the excitement at such an interesting turn of events in the race.

A wad of cash collected from the wagered money was placed in her hand, and after several more hearty congratulations, she wheeled her bike around and left for the city.

Once back in the main part of town, she pulled up to a bar, ripping off her stifling helmet and allowing long blonde hair to cascade down her back. Stripping off her leather jacket to reveal a purple tank top, she said goodbye to her persona as Valencia and simply became Mai Valentine, a woman wanting to drink away her sorrows for the night. Looking in the parking lot, she made sure that the black bike wasn't around. She had seen him in the bar before, and even though she had never seen his face under the helmet, just the way he was acting was enough for her to be sure. He was cocky and arrogant, and she was happy she had beaten him in the race.

Sitting at the bar, Mai ordered straight whiskey, downing the shot in a single gulp without as much as a cringe. The glass met the counter top with a dull clunk, and she motioned for it to be refilled. A chuckle reached her ears.

"A woman who can hold her liquor; there's a rarity."

Swallowing the whiskey again, she glared over at the person who interrupted her alone time and was met with the most feral grin she had ever seen on another person's face. Chocolate brown eyes felt like they were breaching her very thoughts, and she didn't appreciate it.

"What do you want?" she snapped irritably, waiting for and wanting the blissful oblivion that her alcohol could provide her.

"Is it so much for you to assume I'm simply making friendly conversation?" At her derisive scoff and laugh, his eyes narrowed only slightly. "I suppose so, then."

"You hardly seem like the type of person to sit around a bar making 'friendly conversation.' Why don't you just go screw with someone else?" she asked, ordering a beer as she waited for an answer.

"Because no one else here seems quite so intent on becoming completely smashed in the least amount of time possible. Let me guess…death in the family? Perhaps you're having trouble at work. Or wait…" he paused, the wicked grin widening, "Could it be a broken heart?"

If Mai had still had the shot glass in her hand, she could have guaranteed it would have smashed deliciously in this guy's face. As it was, the glass had been cleared away when she ordered her next drink, and the man was luckier for it. "That's none of your damn business!" she growled instead.

He again just laughed it off. "I was right, then." At her livid glare, he continued, "Now, there's no need to bite. I'm enjoying our conversation _immensely_. The name's Bakura, by the way. Yami Bakura."

"I don't really care."

"Very well, then. I'm sure I'll see you back here eventually. Enjoy your evening alone," Yami Bakura said nonchalantly.

His last word echoed around in her mind painfully, and she realized just what she had been doing. He didn't really deserve the way she was treating him anyway, and he at least could know her name. "Mai Valentine. My name is Mai Valentine."

Ah, the power of reverse psychology. As quickly as the man tried to stand up, he soon let his legs deposit him back onto the stool he was occupying. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"Don't think this means we're on good terms. I just don't feel like putting up with feeling guilty that I was a bitch to you."

"I wouldn't dream of it." And again, there was that infuriating smirk.

The night continued much like that, small talk that was barely tolerable for either of them, and yet there was a pull convincing them to talk to each other that neither of them could understand, until finally the bar closed and Mai was forced to wheel her bike home instead of riding it. Yami Bakura went somewhere in the opposite direction, exactly where, she didn't particularly care.

Since then, she had only ridden her motorcycle there once more, after another race with the black bike that she had won again. Switching from Valencia to Mai was simple, and her ensemble underneath was very much the same as the last time, save the tank top was scarlet red. She entered the bar, Yami Bakura already appearing to have anticipated her arrival.

"You always wear the nicest things when you come here," he quipped, looking past her and at her motorcycle. An eyebrow quirked as he remarked, "I wouldn't have taken you as someone who would race."

"I do it for the money."

Dark eyes analyzed her as she replied. There was a slight hint of discomfort, regret, and sorrow perhaps? "I see. Do you win often?"

"Against the black bike, I do. I've won the past two times we've raced, and it's enough to live off of." She missed the grin that stretched his lips as she mentioned her opponent.

"How fortunate for you then. It must be nice to be able to fuel your retail therapy."

The statement hung over them both as Mai's eyes widened considerably. First bringing up her ex the last time and now to peg her like this... "Why would you say that?"

"Are you denying that it's true?" Yami Bakura asked, twirling the coaster of his drink between his fingers casually. "You race for money, and every time I see you in here, you're wearing something new. Tell me that he didn't buy things for you that you wanted, and now you're trying to replace his emptiness by buying the things you want. Tell me that you don't race because the thrill allows you to forget just how pathetic you think you are. Tell me…" he purred seductively, baiting her to retaliate.

He barely caught her hand before it connected with his cheek pulling her off the stool and into him. "You…you creep! You don't know nearly as much as you think you do!"

He smiled widely enough that she could see his canines, making him look absolutely terrifying. "Don't I though? Then why are you getting so defensive? Is it because I saw right through you and you don't know how? You think you're doing a good job at hiding everything, but you're so much more transparent than you think." He laughed as she tried to free her hand and strike him again. "If you want to run away, go ahead. Try to convince yourself that I'm not telling your life exactly how it is and making you see it for yourself."

"Leave me alone! Is this how you get your kicks? Terrorizing people?" she growled.

A chuckle sounded low in his throat. "More or less. It's interesting to see how you'll react." Finally he relinquished his grasp on her wrist. "Leave, then. If you decide to come back, I'll probably be here, so you might want to find somewhere different to drink your troubles away."

His laugh followed her as she escaped.

Two days later, she was back on her bike, hell bent on thoroughly thrashing the black biker with her win. The scene played out just as it had before, except when she got to the first curve, something happened she wasn't expecting. The bike's tire behind hers connected with it at just the right angle that both vehicles were tipped over.

She skidded for several dozen feet, trapped under the steel of her motorcycle, pain erupting in all her senses. Her opponent had followed her path, resting against the bottom of her vehicle's frame when he came to a stop. Fidgeting, Mai realized her left arm was likely broken, but she had gotten very lucky. The other racer wouldn't be so fortunate. She launched herself over her broken bike and pulled him up by the collar of his leather jacket with her right hand.

"You _**idiot**_!" she screamed in rage. "You could have gotten us both killed! UGH! Moron!" she yelled, slamming his back down onto the pavement and ripping off his helmet in an attempt to smash his face in.

She stopped in surprise after the visor was off.

"YOU!"

Lying on the ground, familiar brown eyes stared up laughingly at her and his hands moved to remove her own helmet. "Hello, Mai," Yami Bakura said before he even got it off.

"Why didn't you tell me it was you? You jerk! You could have killed us!" she shrieked almost incoherently.

As he sat up, a trickle of blood seeped across his right eye, staining the hair there. "But I didn't. I admit it was a miscalculation on my part. As for why I didn't tell you, you didn't tell me until I had already figured it out myself. Besides, you stopped coming when you saw my bike out front, but I'm guessing you thought someone else was riding it? It's not my fault you came back when I started walking to the bar. Now the question is, what story to we tell to the ambulance about to pick us up? We'll be fined for racing if they learn the truth."

Mai's only answer was a blank stare.

"I suppose we could always tell them we were trying out mutual interests with each other. You know, like most couples do."

"We are NOT a couple!" she objected vehemently.

"Ah, but they don't know that, do they? You wouldn't want to get in trouble, would you?"

She punched him in the stomach lightly enough to get his attention. "You really are a jerk."

He laughed darkly. "You say that like it's something I don't know."

Her reply was cut off by the shrill shriek of a siren coming down the street.

* * *

><p>Mai was the first to recover, only needing her arm in a cast, and she went to visit Yami Bakura as soon as she was released. He had suffered a head wound and needed stitches, his brain being observed for swelling. When she arrived, he was out cold.<p>

"I really hate you sometimes," she said out of the blue. "I know you can't hear me, but I truly hate you for making me look at myself and finding myself as such a disgusting person. You really had me pegged…It looks like I won't be buying anything nice for a while, huh? I guess I don't need to though. I haven't bought very much since I started talking to you."

"You need to work on your damned attitude though. I don't know if I can keep talking to you if you're such a creep all the time, but whatever." She stretched her back before sauntering out of the room. "I may be back or maybe not. It depends on how I feel after I eat. Maybe I'll bring you some…I don't know. Later, Yami Bakura."

Brown eyes opened into cat-like slits as she left, a satisfied smirk appearing on a previously lax face.


End file.
